


About a Boy

by sunsetmog



Series: See This Night Through [3]
Category: Emmerdale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-06
Updated: 2010-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That's the spirit," Jackson says, clapping Aaron on the shoulder. "Always wanting to try something new, you."</p>
<p>Jackson and Aaron hit a gay bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	About a Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sunsetmog-fics.livejournal.com/58927.html) in November 2010.

"It's a gay bar," Aaron says. He sounds pissed off, but Jackson's had a lot of experience deciphering what Aaron's actually saying under all the grunting and face pulling, and Aaron isn't angry. Jackson thinks that he's actually sort of happy, underneath the frown. 

"Why, yes, it is ," Jackson says placidly. He's still really full from the pizza they've just stuffed down at the restaurant next to their apartment, and what he wants now is a beer and a sit down. "You coming in, or what?"

Aaron glances up and down the busy row of beachfront shops and bars and restaurants, all geared towards tourists like themselves. Jackson had made sure that their resort was as gay friendly as he could get at short notice and a lot of the bars are proudly displaying rainbow flags. 

"I suppose," Aaron says, grumpily. 

"That's the spirit," Jackson says, clapping Aaron on the shoulder. "Always wanting to try something new, you."

"You what?" Aaron says. Jackson thinks that maybe they bypassed Aaron's sense of humour at birth. Either that or Aaron's always spoiling for a fight. 

Jackson doesn't rise to the bait. "I'll have a bottle of Sol," he tells Aaron. "Go on, I'll get us a table."

Aaron rolls his eyes and heads for the bar. Jackson watches him for a moment before taking a look around and spying a table in the far corner. There's a guy leaning against the end of the bar and surveying the room, and Jackson grins at him as he passes. He's tall, with blond spiky hair and a tattoo sneaking out from under his vest, and he's hot, in a straight-from-the-pages-of-GQ kind of way. The guy is still smiling at him when Jackson sits down, but when Aaron heads back from the bar with two bottles of beer and a packet of crisps, Jackson doesn't even spare the hot guy a second look. He's sort of stupid about Aaron, in the kind of way he could never actually tell him about, but whatever. 

"Cheers," he says, reaching for the bottle of Sol. 

"They don't call 'em _Walkers_ over here," Aaron tells him. "What's up with that? Look, the packet's the same."

"Dunno," Jackson says. He elbows Aaron as he sits down, pointing out at the dance floor. "You going to get up there and show us your stuff?"

"No way," Aaron says, which is a challenge if ever Jackson heard one. "I don't dance."

"You do on holiday," Jackson tells him, trying to give Aaron as little opportunity as possible to argue with him. It's not Jackson's greatest plan, to be honest.

Aaron just makes a face. "Don't," he says.

"Holiday," Jackson says, pointedly. "Have fun."

"Alright, alright," Aaron says. "Stop your mithering."

Jackson laughs then, his fingers curled around the neck of his beer bottle. Condensation slides down the cool glass beneath his fingertips, and he leans over and strokes the cold flat of his palm against the back of Aaron's neck. Aaron jerks away. 

"Dick," he says, and then he does the exact same thing to Jackson, and Jackson squirms away with a yelp, because Aaron's fingers are cold, and they're in Lanzarote, where it's _hot_. 

Aaron grins. "See how you like it," he says. 

"Yeah, yeah," Jackson says, easily. He hums a breath and wonders whether they should have taken one of the tables outside at the front. It's still early - not even eleven - and the bars are quiet. They do everything later here. Jackson likes that. He cranes his neck to see if there are any tables free outside. There aren't, not that it exactly matters, since the bar spills out through archway after archway onto the terrace, and being inside is almost exactly the same as being outside. There's something about being on holiday that makes Jackson want to be outside as much as possible though. It's his mum in him. He can't resist taking another look, just to make sure there isn't a table they can move to. Somewhere they can see the stars. 

Not that he's planning on looking, or anything, but it's the principle of the thing.

When he looks back, Aaron's attention isn't on Jackson any more. He's diverted by something happening over Jackson's shoulder, and his grin has flattened out into a frown. Jackson can't help it, he looks over his shoulder and finds the GQ guy still staring at them. 

Aaron's glaring right back. Jackson wants to roll his eyes. "I'm sitting with you," he reminds Aaron, even though he hates engaging with Aaron over shit like this. "Anyway, what's to say he's not staring at you?"

Aaron's expression says that he's not even considered the possibility. 

"He might be," Jackson goes on, "but it doesn't matter, because I'm with you. In case you were wondering."

"I wasn't," Aaron says, but he still doesn't stop glaring at the GQ guy. Jackson tells himself that at least Aaron is clearly jealous. Thing is, Jackson doesn't exactly need reassurance that Aaron likes him, he knows that already. But it's clear that Aaron still wants to hide away, even from himself, and that's pissing annoying. Jackson knows that Aaron's done it for so long now that it's second nature, and changing the habits of a lifetime is a slow and annoying process, and it's a pain in the arse waiting for things to shift. 

"Are you going to stop glaring at him at any point in the near future?" Jackson asks, after a minute of Aaron thugging it up. 

"What?" Aaron says, tearing his gaze away. "He's staring at you."

"And you're staring at him," Jackson points out, "when you could be staring at me. What's wrong with my mug? Bored of it already?"

"What?" Aaron says, startled out of his stare. "No, shut up."

"I would," Jackson says, "but you're out with me and you're staring at another guy. Excuse me if I get jealous." He makes his best kicked puppy face. It's never exactly worked with Aaron before, but he's buggered if his night with Aaron is going to be ruined because Aaron's taking the earliest opportunity to act like a total fucking knob. 

Aaron blinks. "Shut up," he says, but his brow furrows. "Jealous?" he asks, and Jackson should feel bad for manipulating Aaron, but he kind of doesn't, because Aaron's attention is back on him. 

"Stop staring at other guys," Jackson says. 

"I'm not," Aaron says, in injured tones.

Jackson raises his eyebrows, saying _uh-huh_ with as much sarcasm as his eyebrows can muster. It turns out to be quite a lot, because Aaron sighs, and holds his hand out. 

"Give us your wallet," he says. "I'll go get us another drink."

"I'm pretty sure that this isn't the way this is supposed to go," Jackson says, but he hands over his wallet anyway, without saying anything else. 

When Aaron comes back, the GQ guy is gone, but Jackson doesn't much care where so long as Aaron's not punched him. He just wants a holiday with his boyfriend; that shouldn't be so far outside the realms of possibility, Jackson's sure. 

And it doesn't seem to be, either, because the rest of the evening is actually really fun. They get progressively drunker in the corner of the bar, and the number of empty beer bottles crowding their table grows to a stupid number. Jackson tries to get Aaron on to the dance floor, but Aaron's having none of it. Even giving up on the beer and changing to sangria doesn't change his mind.

"Go on," Jackson says. He's at that great stage of drunkenness where his gaze shifts and his brain takes a second to catch up. He moves his head from side to side just because he can, waiting for his vision to catch up. He leans into Aaron's side, less bothered about Aaron's code of acceptable behaviours when he's this drunk, and Aaron is too. 

"No," Aaron tells him, but when Jackson leans his head on Aaron's shoulder and looks up at him, wide-eyed, Aaron just laughs, and - a little awkwardly - slides his arm along Jackson's shoulder. 

"I'll get you out there before we fly home," Jackson says. His words are slurring a little but he doesn't care. He's on holiday, with Aaron. "We're on holiday," he tells Aaron. 

"We are," Aaron agrees, laughing and rolling his eyes. Jackson doesn't know why Aaron doesn't seem to be as drunk as Jackson is. Jackson wonders if he's drunk Aaron's sangria as well as his own. He might have done. There was a lot of sangria. "But I'm still not dancing."

"You will," Jackson says, with certainty. Sangria-edged certainty.

"Yeah, yeah," Aaron says, and Jackson suddenly wants to kiss him more than anything else in the world. 

"Let's go," he says, and Aaron makes a face. 

"It's early yet," Aaron says. 

Jackson doesn't know what time it is and he doesn't much care. "Yeah, I want to go," he says. "Want to kiss you and you won't let me here, so."

Aaron rolls his eyes but Jackson's sure that he's flushing red, and it's not just the drink, Jackson knows. But he reaches out and touches Aaron's cheek anyway, just to feel the heat of his skin beneath his fingertips. 

Aaron sort of bats him away, but Jackson knows the look in his eyes. "Let's go," Jackson says again, because he's drunk and on holiday and in love with his boyfriend, even though Aaron has no idea at all that Jackson's so serious about him. He would do, if he had any sense at all, since Jackson's hardly keeping how he's feeling secret or anything, but Aaron's hardly the most astute guy Jackson's ever known. 

"Okay," Aaron says, and Jackson laughs. 

"Great," he says, and finishes the rest of his drink in one go. When he stands up he's unsteady on his feet and ends up bumping into Aaron, who laughs and places his hand on Jackson's elbow. 

"Careful," Aaron says. 

"Am being careful," Jackson lies, and leans a little heavier on Aaron than he strictly needs to. 

"You're well drunk, mate," Aaron says. 

Jackson beams, because that is the exact truth. He wants to take his boyfriend back to their apartment and take his clothes off and—he can't help laughing. 

Aaron looks at him oddly, but Jackson's not in the mood to care. He tags after Aaron until they're outside on the busy street, full of nightclubs and bars and restaurants with people still eating outside, even though it must be well past midnight. 

"Let's get chips," Jackson says decisively. 

"Thought you wanted to go back to the apartment?" Aaron says. 

Jackson really wants chips, now, but he wants to kiss Aaron even more. So much so that he doesn't want to wait the five minutes it's going to take to walk back along the front to their apartment. He drags Aaron across the road, and through the closed-up stalls to the beach, where the sand stretches away to either side of them, further than Jackson can even see. Up near the stalls that during the day sell newspapers and cokes and burgers and floats and beach mats, there are streetlamps, and from there they can see that the beach clearly isn't deserted, even this late at night. The tide is out, though, and down by the water's edge it's dark, the light from the streetlights not stretching that far. Jackson can make out the shadowy figures of a few people walking down by the water, but that's it. 

Resolutely, he drags Aaron further down the beach, towards the sea, where the shadows merge with the night and it's dark enough that no one will spot Jackson curling his hand around the back of Aaron's neck. 

"What—" Aaron manages, and glances up and down the beach. 

"Shut up and let me kiss you," Jackson says, because they've both had a lot to drink and Jackson's not in the mood for anything other than getting off with Aaron. 

But it doesn't look like Aaron's going to argue. It's hard to make much out in the dark, and Jackson's more than a little aware that he can't exactly trust what he's seeing anyway, not after he's drunk as much as all this. 

Aaron's breathing softly and offering no argument, and Jackson touches Aaron's face with his hand, soft and a little tentative, because the mood has shifted from fun and easy to something a little different, a little hotter.   
Jackson feels drunk in the best sense of the word, caught up and on fire, and it's easier than he expects to nudge Aaron into touching him back. Aaron can be sweetly tentative if the mood takes him, so long as he thinks that no one - including him and Jackson - are watching. He touches Jackson awkwardly, cupping Jackson's cheek in his hand, and Jackson knows without being able to see that Aaron's gaze will be flicking between Jackson's eyes and his mouth. 

The kiss tastes like beer, sweet and warm and maybe it should be stale and unpleasant - Jackson's had his fair share of late night, drunken, beery kisses, and this doesn't feel like any of them. Maybe it's the heat, still palpable and sticky-hot, even this late at night. Jackson doesn't care, because Aaron's mouth is on his, and he's kissing Jackson really kind of gently. 

Aaron isn't ever gentle, he doesn't know how to be, but maybe he's learning. 

Jackson kisses him back, his hand still in the nape of Aaron's neck, his skin hot beneath Jackson's fingertips. 

The kiss is unhurried, warm and exploratory, and neither of them make a move to speed it up. 

It feels oddly, ridiculously romantic to Jackson, who hasn't ever been on holiday with a boyfriend before. He wonders how it feels to Aaron, who's never done anything like this, with anyone. He doesn't ask, because he doesn't want to spoil this moment, which feels singular and of itself, trapped in the here and now. He's getting off with his boyfriend on a beach in Lanzarote, and he can't think of a single other place he'd rather be. 

"Let's go back," he says, against Aaron's mouth, and Aaron agrees. 

They take too long walking back to their apartment, stopping to pick up something to eat from the shop on the corner that never seems to close. They start to laugh because they have no idea what they're buying; neither of them have a word of Spanish and the pictures are inexplicable. Aaron only ever eats what he's familiar with, so Jackson had expected nothing but pizza and McDonalds whilst they were out here. Something about Jackson's mood must be catching, though, because Aaron puts whatever Jackson hands him into the basket, without complaining once that it isn't a cheese sandwich or his favourite flavour of crisps. They fight over which bottled water to get, though, because Jackson wants the biggest one, and Aaron can't be bothered. 

"But, _tea_ ," Jackson complains, and Aaron rolls his eyes and picks up the five litre bottle, just like Jackson wants. "Just think of all the tea we can have now," Jackson tells him, happily. 

"Uh-huh," Aaron says, and Jackson beams, because Aaron's dumping their shopping on the counter and paying for their stuff. It's stupid little bits and pieces, bread and water and bags of snacks Jackson doesn't recognise but that might have been biscuits and crisps, and beer, but it feels kind of special that they're here, buying it together. Not that Jackson can say any of that, but he bumps his elbow against Aaron's as Aaron takes the bags, and pretends that he has. 

In the lift up to their apartment, Jackson leans into Aaron's side and is gratified when Aaron leans back, just enough that Jackson knows that he has to have done it on purpose. He's so used to working with a version of Aaron that's deliberately isolated from everybody and everything around him, that even this tiny shift in his behaviour is incredible. 

Jackson presses his mouth to Aaron's ear. "Want to kiss you," he says, in as much of a whisper as he can manage. He wonders hazily how much more sangria he had than Aaron. 

Aaron shifts the shopping bag from one hand to the other. He swallows, and Jackson watches his throat work, nervous and turned on, Jackson can _tell_. 

Jackson's curiosity gets the better of him and he touches his fingertips to Aaron's skin, to his throat. "Want to blow you," he says, because he wants to feel the way Aaron reacts beneath his hand. Alcohol has loosened his tongue. 

"Shut up," Aaron says, awkwardly. His skin is flushed pink. There's no one in the lift with them, but Aaron acts as if there were. He bites at his lip and Jackson leaves him alone, tipping his head back against the wall as the lift shudders up to the sixth floor. 

There's a tinny chime as the doors open, and Jackson waits for Aaron to walk out first, into the hall with the lino that peels up in the corners, and the strip lights that hum as Aaron fumbles in the pocket of his jeans for the key to their room. _Their_ room, Jackson thinks, and grins to himself. 

"What's so funny?" Aaron asks, roughly, as he pushes their door open and drops the bags on the tiny table by the stove. 

"Nothing," Jackson says, letting the door close behind him. He doesn't bother with the lights. He doesn't even go over and pull open the door to their balcony to let some air in. The heat is stifling, hot and humid. Jackson can feel the sweat beading on his lip as he closes the distance between him and Aaron, his hands going straight to Aaron's hips, anchoring him near. 

Aaron doesn't move away. He kisses Jackson first, leaning in and pressing his mouth to Jackson's, sweet-hot and anticipatory. Jackson can feel himself getting hard as Aaron kisses him.

Thing is, sex with Aaron isn't the best Jackson's ever had. Aaron's inexperienced and hates to ask for anything, advice or otherwise. They don't talk much - at least not so much that it matters - and Aaron's had to learn through guesswork, through trial and error and sometimes that works and sometimes it doesn't. But it's still Aaron, and Jackson wants him, he wants him so much that sometimes it feels like an ache, deep down in his chest. 

Aaron's never been the kind of person who could talk about what he wants, but Jackson thinks that he's at least as much in the dark as Aaron is about what he likes to do in bed. It's taken time for them to get stuff right. For a while they stuck with wanking each other off, and that was good, since Aaron wasn't exactly at the stage where he was okay with Jackson fucking him, and he wasn't at the point where he'd consider doing it to Jackson, either. Jackson knows they're working up to it, one way or the other, and he also knows that usually where Aaron's concerned, taking the long way around tends to be worth it. He tries not to be overly bothered that it's taking a while.

But blow jobs, though. The first time Jackson blew Aaron he knew from about fifteen seconds in that this was _it_. This was what did it for Aaron, this was what got Aaron hard so fast that Jackson barely knew what had hit him. The first time he'd done it Aaron had come after less than a minute. 

Jackson cups Aaron's dick through his jeans and he tries to hide his smile as he realises that Aaron's hard. He lets Aaron kiss his smile away, the heel of his hand applying a lazy pressure to Aaron's erection. He wants to wait until Aaron asks for what he wants, but he knows that if he does that, he could be waiting for a month of Sundays. Aaron's virtually incapable of asking for stuff for himself. 

"You want?" Jackson asks, because sometimes Aaron finds it easier if he's led in the right direction. 

"Uh-huh," Aaron manages, because Jackson's stroking him now, through the denim. Jackson is going to get him in shorts before long if it kills him. Aaron must be boiling.

Jackson waits, but Aaron doesn't actually volunteer _what_ it is that he wants. "You want this?" Jackson offers, instead. 

Aaron nods, but Jackson _knows_ he wants more. He just doesn't know how to get Aaron to ask for it. 

"Hand job?" Jackson relents. Aaron's already nodding when Jackson just gives in and says, "Or do you want me to blow you?"

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Aaron manages, his voice a little higher than normal. His cock jerks beneath Jackson's fingers. "Yes, _that_."

Jackson wishes Aaron could just ask for it. He shoves Aaron into the bedroom, though, and back against the bed. He fumbles with Aaron's fly until Aaron rolls his eyes and pushes Jackson out of the way. 

"I'll do it," Aaron says, "God, how useless are you."

"I'm _drunk_ ," Jackson points out, stumbling as he tries to get his own shorts off. He drops them on the floor and tugs his t-shirt over his head. He feels like saying _ta-da_ , or something, but Aaron would probably just give him a withering glance. Jackson sometimes feels like his sense of humour isn't actually appreciated by his boyfriend. 

"Yeah, so?" Aaron says, raising an eyebrow. He drops his jeans and pulls off his shirt. His pants are navy blue and faded; Jackson wonders if they were the pair he'd borrowed that first night he'd stayed at Aaron's. He steps out of his underwear. "I am too."

Jackson rolls his eyes. "We can't all be hardened drinkers like you," he says. "Now shut up if you want me to give you a blow job."

Aaron's reaction is still there, the slight flinch and the stillness in his shoulders, but it's fleeting and it's followed by Aaron grabbing Jackson by the hip and tugging him closer, and down onto the bed. Jackson doesn't bother concentrating on anything but that, and he laughs instead, because what else is there to do? Their bedroom is utilitarian by anyone's standards, just a bed and an old wardrobe that's seen way better days. They haven't even opened it, because who needs a wardrobe when they're on holiday? The rest of the room is littered in their stuff, open suitcases pushed up against the wall and all their shirts and shampoo and shaving stuff and pants mixed up and overflowing across the floor. When they'd arrived, there had been a blanket on the bed, although Jackson had no idea why considering the heat and the average temperature. They'd dumped it on the floor by the window as soon as they'd seen it, and it's still there. The cleaners clearly think blankets are as stupid an idea as Aaron and Jackson do. There's just a sheet on the bed now, stiff and starched and difficult to tug back—especially when Jackson's busy concentrating on kissing Aaron's neck. He wants to crowd Aaron back against the mattress, but he can't pull the sheet free. In the end he gives up and Aaron sprawls on top of it, Jackson tumbling down on top of him. He kisses him hungrily, one hand cupping Aaron's cheek, and Aaron rolls him over so that he can press Jackson back into the pillows.

It's so hot. Jackson has no idea what the temperature is in here, with the windows closed and no air-con on. He's already slick with sweat, and so is Aaron. When he slides his hand down Aaron's side and into the small of his back, his skin is sticky-hot. Jackson gasps out a breath and tugs Aaron even closer, wanting to be even closer, even though it means he can barely breathe for the heat. 

"Come up here," Jackson tells him, in between kisses. He makes some kind of nonsensical movement with his hand, trying to express that he wants Aaron to shift up the bed so that he's kneeling up over Jackson and Jackson can take Aaron's cock in his mouth and suck him off. 

Jackson never was that good at charades, and judging by the confusion written all over Aaron's face, he isn't either. Aaron's lack of imagination isn't exactly news to Jackson, though, so he slides his hands down and over Aaron's arse. "Want to suck you off," he says, just because Aaron's shiver against Jackson's skin feels so damn good. 

Aaron doesn't take instruction well, and in the end, Jackson ends up tugging him up the bed and holding his hips in place so that he can lick across the tip of Aaron's cock. 

That's when Aaron gets it, and he sits back on his heels, kneeling over Jackson's chest and shoulders, and groans. 

The position is almost impossible, and Jackson's pretty sure his muscles are going to be screaming at him before Aaron's even had a chance to come, but he doesn't care all that much. He fumbles for the other pillow anyway, and Aaron shows a momentary awareness of what's going on around him, because he helps Jackson to slide the pillow under his head, propping him up so it's just that little bit easier for Jackson to take Aaron's cock in his mouth. 

Jackson sometimes still expects Aaron to be as rough and ready in the bedroom as he is in the rest of his life, but apart from a tendency to try and cover up his inexperience and an unwillingness to ask questions, Aaron isn't actually as aggressive as all that. Jackson wouldn't go as far as saying that Aaron was gentle and considerate, not like other people would understand considerate, anyway, but all the same, Aaron was certainly... _something_. Nice, maybe. He didn't go out of his way to make Jackson feel like a prince, or anything stupid like that, and Aaron was still more likely to concentrate on his orgasm rather than Jackson's, but apart from that, being with Aaron like this is actually really nice. And Jackson's grown to appreciate Aaron's cock, too. The way it feels, the heavy weight on his tongue, the way it curves slightly to the left. He tastes good, and better than that, he sounds fucking hot, kneeling over Jackson and groaning out his name as Jackson curls his tongue around the head of Aaron's cock and sucks. 

Aaron's not polite and he's got a filthy mouth when he's turned on. He never wants to make things last and he's more concerned with coming than he is trying not to come apart under Jackson's mouth. He breathes _fuck, fuck_ onto the hot, sticky air and Jackson runs his hands over Aaron's slick skin as Aaron fucks his face, the rhythm fast and kind of furious. Jackson's jaw aches and there aren't enough pillows propping him up so his neck's started to hurt but he just doesn't care. Aaron's falling apart above him and Jackson's making that happen, and that's all that matters. 

Jackson thinks, _love you, love you, love you_ , but his mouth is around Aaron's cock so he can't say it out loud. He takes more of Aaron in, so much so that he feels like he's choking and almost like it's too much, but Aaron actually _whines_ above him, his head tipping back, so Jackson doesn't stop. Jackson manages a moment longer before he can't any longer, and he shifts back so he can mouth at the underside of Aaron's cock again, concentrating on the spot just underneath the head that drives Aaron wild. 

"Jesus," Aaron bites out, as Jackson's teeth graze at his cock and Aaron's hips buck. "Fuck, _fuck_." 

_Yes_ , Jackson thinks, and Aaron never gives him a warning when he's about to come. He isn't that thoughtful or aware, and anyway, even though that first moment's always a shock, Jackson secretly finds Aaron's come on his face hot and kind of sexy. The caught, breathy _fuck_ is all the preparation time Jackson has before Aaron starts to come.

Then Aaron's just a heavy weight on Jackson's chest, slumped forward and breathing hard, and all Jackson can think about is Aaron's come on his face, and the way that his own erection is desperately in need of taking care of. 

"Shift over," Jackson says, his hand on Aaron's chest. He's sweating and breathing hard, and the room is so hot it's barely even possible to breathe. Aaron's skin shines with sweat, and he manages a groan as he rolls off Jackson and on to the sheet next to him. Even without the light on Jackson can see the way Aaron's chest is heaving. He curls his fist around his own cock, and runs his hand across Aaron's stomach, feeling the heat beneath his fingertips. 

He rolls onto his side, and his fist bumps Aaron's thigh on the upstroke as he jerks himself off. Jackson can feel Aaron freeze, even now, and Jackson _knows_ it's because Aaron doesn't know how to ask for what he wants. Aaron's only sucked him off once, and it wasn't that great. Well, Jackson thinks, it was great because he'd had his cock in Aaron's mouth, and it isn't actually possible to have a bad blow job, but it wasn't as good as some of the others he'd had in his life. 

Jackson ducks his head and presses his mouth to Aaron's shoulder. Aaron groans, and rolls onto his side so he can cup Jackson's face in his hand and lean in for a kiss. It's as proactive as Aaron ever gets, and even though Jackson can recognize the fierce, desperate possession in Aaron's kiss, it isn't the same as Aaron's hand on Jackson's cock. 

Jackson's still drunk, and he doesn't care so much about whether or not he's screwing things up, so he tangles his fingers into Aaron's and draws their hands down to Jackson's erection. Aaron's breath hitches against Jackson's mouth, but if Aaron's kissing Jackson then he's not complaining or trying to back out of what they're doing because he's too scared of what he feels, so Jackson lets Aaron kiss him over and over, loose-limbed and sticky and way, way too hot. 

_Yeah_ , Jackson thinks, _fuck yeah_. He leads the rhythm at first, but it's easy to let Aaron take over. His head's a mess. He's drunk and turned on and the heat is ridiculous, so he moves his legs a little further apart and loosens his grip and lets Aaron take over. 

Aaron would rather die than admit his hesitancy over anything, but here in the darkened room, a good few drinks down him, his whole body slack from his orgasm, his touch is as hesitant as Jackson's ever known. It's a real contrast to his kiss, which is fierce and possessive. His breath is hot and a little beery against Jackson's mouth, and Jackson's too turned on and had too much sangria to kiss back anymore so he just lets Aaron kiss him as he jerks Jackson off. 

"Feels good," he tries to say, against Aaron's mouth, and Aaron makes a strange, stilted sound in his mouth and slides his other hand down to cup Jackson's balls. He's never done that before, and Jackson hadn't expected it. His hips rock up against Aaron's hand and Aaron makes that noise again, hot and desperate, and Jackson thinks desperately, _this is it_. 

"Aaron," he manages, and that's all the warning he can give before his orgasm takes over and he's coming. Aaron makes a startled noise but doesn't let go of Jackson's cock, and Jackson shakes through his orgasm and trembles through the tiny, desperate aftershocks as Aaron still doesn't let go. 

Jackson rolls over and buries his face in the hot, sticky curve of Aaron's neck and doesn't open his eyes. 

He feels Aaron pull away after a while, but he's too close to sleep to make more than a cursory protest. He hears rather than sees the slide of the doors opening onto the balcony, and the flutter of the curtains against the barely-there night breeze. There's a stifled _shit_ from Aaron as he bumps into the sofa in the other room, and then the slide of those balcony doors opening too. Then there's the soft, insistent whirr of the overhead fan starting up, and then Aaron's crawling up the bed and tugging the sheet up and over them both. 

The last thing Jackson remembers before he falls asleep is the awkward, hesitant touch of Aaron's hand on his hip, holding him close. 

[End]


End file.
